


(I Found Something) In The Woods Somewhere

by The_Eldritch_IT_Gay



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: First Meetings, OC insert, Original Character(s), Other, Self-Indulgent, Tea, nothing romantic/sexual yet (not in my good muslim fic), self care is shipping your d&d character with cr characters and pretending Molly never dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 13:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16854988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eldritch_IT_Gay/pseuds/The_Eldritch_IT_Gay
Summary: Before meeting the Mighty Nein and starting his adventures, shortly after crawling out of his grave, Mollymauk the circus stops in a small town on the edge of an eerie forest steeped in mystery. He can't help but feel drawn to them, especially after hearing of a cemetery deep in the woods and the rumours of a strange creature that lives out there.





	(I Found Something) In The Woods Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> There's not a lot of romance in this, I might add more stuff where they get to the romance part, but right now this is just two bisexual genderfluid planetoucheds with similar histories meeting in some weird woods.  
> Molly is genderfluid and uses he/him pronouns. N'Abjidynen is genderfluid and used they/they pronouns.
> 
> Title from Hozier's In The Woods Somewhere. Which has little to do with this story I just think it's neat and a quality song.
> 
> Also I know Blood Hunters can't sense undead per say but I can do what I want.

The gentle breeze in the fields was just enough to make the charms on his horns sway. The town was small but large enough for the caravan to try to stop in. Already their arrival was causing some stir: common folk curiously eyeing the strange crew, some bright-eyed children following their caravan from distance. By the time they were setting up the tents, there was a small crowd of locals watching with interest.

Sitting in the back of one of their carts, Mollymauk smiled, scanning the surroundings. Their best chance to gather folk to come to the circus was usually a pub. Those were usually easy enough to find, even in a small farming town. Normally he could just walk around town a bit and find exactly where most people were gathered. Hopping off the cart, he started towards the town, scanning the buildings he could see and looking for ones people seemed to be frequenting. As he got right to the edge of the streets, a wooden pole at a crossroads caught his eye. Walking towards it he found it was covered in various signs pointing in various directions. _Market. Gael. Town Square. Blacksmith. General Store. Jagged Moon Inn. Pale Docks._ The list went on, giving directions to near everything in town.

Molly made a mental note of each Tavern sign he saw and how close it seemed. As he did, his eyes wandered, and he found himself drawn to a dilapidated sign near the bottom of the pole. The wood was worn and chipped, paint peeling and faded, barely legible. _Graveyard ⛼🕱_. Even if the letters themselves didn’t mean much to him, the symbols did. Looking in the direction of the arrow, he saw the dense half-dead forest they had skirted on their way into town.

For the past months he has spent with the carnival, he had kept finding himself drawn to each graveyard they came across. He didn’t know why- it’s not like he thought he would find answers in any. Despite Yasha’s concern, he kept visiting them. Wandering the rows of graves in silence, reading names new and old. There was an odd sense of serenity in them that Molly found himself craving sometimes.

Maybe that craving is what made him turn off the main road and head towards the treeline.

Outside of the town, it was dead silent, the pale dead trees a stark contrast to the lush fields. The meandering dirt path that lead to the edge of the woods looked long forgotten. Only a few deep grooves in the dirt indicated any recent activity. The path ended at the treeline and at a tiny ramshackle hut and as he approached he saw an older human woman leaving it.

“Pardon me, madam,”

The woman startled slightly at the sight of him, not that he blamed her. Towns like these very rarely had any tieflings.

“Oh- I,” She stammered, “Apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s quite alright,” Molly smiled, “Is this the way to the graveyard?”

“Oh, this- the graveyard isn’t here. I’ve never been there, don’t know anyone who has really. This is the closest most get, the shrine or drop off place of sorts.”

“Drop off place?”

“Oh, right, you must not be from around here.”

“I’m not, I just came into town. I’m curious though.”

“No one’s actually seen ‘em, Euthanatos, some folks say it’s just a crazy old tale...” She trailed off for a moment, gathering her thoughts, “Right, so, most folks are buried in the cemetery between here and Thefaudew, we’re small towns, we don’t need our own cemetery. So people that die in the area usually go there. But, er, not all folks are accepted by most. You would know… It kind of started a few years back, a uh- a tiefling in the area died and folks didn’t want her buried there. Sad really, so she was just kinda wrapped up and put at the edge of the Deadwood here. And well, after a day or so, her body was gone. Replaced with a bunch of flowers and a piece of bark carved with a sigil. And so, now, whenever someone of strange blood in the area dies, they’re brought here.”

She gestured at the small hut, and as Molly stepped closer to peer inside he scrunched his nose. The flowers and burning incense couldn’t mask the smell of old rot and decay. He fought the urge to step back as something caught his eye. Hanging inside the open-air hut were strings with pieces of small bark. Each piece had strange symbols burned into it, no two the same. It wasn’t a script or language he recognized, but something seemed familiar about it...

“‘Ey Syra, don’t tell me yer tryna convince foreign folk t’ believe that silly old tale, are ya?” A voice suddenly called out, interrupting Molly’s thoughts.

An older looking dwarf with thick salt and pepper beard was lumbering up the path. Syra, the woman smiled, shaking her head as she blew out the candles resting on the half walls of the shack.

“Aye, and I don’t suppose you’re going to try to convince him to believe your ‘silly old tale’ are you, Bazrik?”

Bazrik crossed his arms, “Well if yer tellin yours, ‘s only fair.”

“I’m all ears,” Molly grinned, amused.

“Well, fer starters, it ain’t ‘Euthanatos’ or what have you. We ain’t got no proof those bodies were buried, ya said it yourself, ain’t nobody seen the boneyard. Us logical folk call that _thing_ Necrotos. Nothin’ good could come from some being takin’ dead bodies. Could be eatin ‘em, or performing dark magics. Those who believe is some kind creature are fools, and you'll probably end up in its hands sooner than later.”

“You’re just a pessimist,” Syra chuckled.

“Ai, maybe so.” Bazrik said, “But I gotta be if it means gettin ya home to yer wife on time. I don’t want ‘er kickin’ my arse, got enough of that when we were tykes.”

Syra smiled, picking up her satchel from where it rested against the shack.

“Oh,” She turned to Mollymauk, “Do feel free to poke around the shrine or the woods a bit more, just be respectful and the woods’ll be kind to you.”

Molly smiled and waved them off, watching the two slowly make their way back to the town. Once they were off a bit, he gave one last look at the inside of the shack, then started into the woods.

The path deeper in was barely tread, so crooked and narrow it barely seemed like a path at all. 20 feet in, the trees started to give way to more live trees, a rich green and brown replacing the dry gray trunks. Dead trees still were mixed in, but growing sparser and sparser. He must have walked for 10 minutes before the path, if he could even call it that, stopped. There was no clear way forward, and with a sigh, he came to a stop next to one of the dead trees. He considered turning back, Yasha was sure to be worried and he should help set up the tents. As he thought, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. The dead tree next to him wasn’t smooth like normal. As he looked over it now, he could see dozens of jagged sigils were carved deep into the dead wood, most of them appeared similar to the ones burned into the bark at the shrine. There was still something about it that felt familiar, something tugging on the edge of his memory that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Molly ran his fingers over the carvings idly, they were well worn, maybe years old. Looking further into the woods, he could just barely see another dead tree further in. Heading towards it, Molly pushed aside snagging branches and thorns, hopping over fallen trees and tangles of foliage. Once he was close, he could see similar sigils carved deep in the wood, but there were more of them. Scanning forward, he could barely make out a pale shape standing out against the rest of the woods.

Using the carved dead trees for direction, he went from tree to tree, moving deeper into the woods, forging his own meandering path. The further in, the more carvings appeared, growing clearer and clearing with each passing tree. At one point, gods he didn’t know how long he’d been out here, he noticed something about the carvings. The curving, sharp shapes were starting to approach something familiar. It _almost_ looked like… Infernal. But it wasn’t, not quite. But even then, he realized they were only refined versions of the shapes on the outskirts. His eyes quickly spotted the next tree not 20 feet from him, and he dashed towards it. _Why is it in Infernal? What does it say? Will it be legible the further in I get?_ Preoccupied with his thoughts, he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until it was too late and he slammed into a person who stepped out from behind a tree.

Twigs and rocks dug into his palms as he barely caught himself before he landed on the person he had knocked to the ground. Molly was quick to pull back, sitting on his heels and staring at the person sprawled out in front of him.

The person he had run into glared at him from the ground, sunken solid gold eyes that would have been more intimidating is they didn’t look so dim and lifeless. Their whole face looked almost lifeless, ashen, scarred, and worryingly skeletal. The gold spots on their brown skin almost as dull as their eyes. The black hijab and draping, worn, tan robes hid their figure, but Molly could tell they were likely as thin as their skeletal face suggested.

Something twisted in his stomach, what he thought must just be worry or fear.

“My apologies, I didn’t see you there, here, let me help,”

He reached out, offering them a hand. For a few moments they didn’t move, but eventually, with a sigh, they took his hand. As soon as he touched them, something felt… off, a strange sense of unease washing over him. Molly’s eyes were drawn to how thin their wrists were, he could see the outline of the bones of their arm and hand, see the tendons and muscles moving weakly. He himself wasn’t that heavy- he had climbed out of a grave less than a year ago- but he looked like he weighed twice as much as this person did.

He carefully helped them up, noting the way they seemed to tremble and almost sway with the wind. They were tall, easily at least half a foot taller than Yasha, but much thinner and weaker- barely holding themselves upright. It was hard to hide his concern, though he tried with a friendly smile. The person did not return the gesture, instead looking at the ground and spilled basket of berries, herbs, and flowers. Still visibly shaking, they attempted to crouch to pick up their dropped items and Molly barely caught them as they nearly collapsed.

“No, no, let me,” He insisted after helping them back up.

They didn’t answer, but also didn’t protest as Molly knelt down and gathered up the scattered berries and plants and put them back into the basket they had been carrying. When he stood back up, basket in his hands, they stayed silent, only looking at the basket. Or he assumed, it was hard to tell without irises.

“I’ll help you carry this back to your place if you’d like,” Molly offered.

At this point, he didn’t expect a response. Some people didn’t talk, or didn’t like talking, it was none of his business nor was it his place to judge. And he didn’t get an answer, their glassy and unresponsive eyes barely seemed to blink. After a few moments, though, the person turned and started slowly down the path. As Molly followed them, he realized they weren’t going in the direction of the town, but instead deeper into the woods. He didn’t argue though, just followed them slowly, careful to match their slow pace.

Stray branches pulled at his coat as he followed them down a barely-there path. Each dead tree they passed had more and more carved sigils and symbols in them and as Molly brushed his fingers over one he could feel a faint thrum of magic. All of the trees got thicker the deeper in they went. The deep blue sky of the evening was slowly blotted out and blocked by the canopy of crowded, ancient trees.

For roughly 10 minutes they walked in silence, the only sound the snapping of twigs and the soft sounds of the forest around them. Then finally, the trees parted, just enough, for Molly to see their destination.

Two overgrown, crumbling stone pillars stood at the threshold of the clearing, a broken and rusted wrought iron gate in pieces on the ground, covered in plant life. An old, weathered piece of wood with carved symbols lay just outside of the entrance, perhaps once serving as a sign. Within the crumbling mossy, vestiges of the walls of the graveyard, there were no headstones. There were some sticks at the head of a plot of disturbed earth, stacks of mossy rocks of varying height near some, other older plots were covered in vibrant grass, surrounded by a circle of mushrooms.

Off to the right, blending in with the mossy, overgrown stone and thick trees, there was a cottage. Vines hung from a sagging roof covered in dirt and plants, partially hiding the crooked, cobbled together, moss-covered hut. The only give-away that a house was there was the cobblestone chimney that rose above the plant growth. Right next to the hut, near the barely visible door and at the edge of the graveyard, there was another dead tree. This one, though, was covered top to bottom in carvings- more sigils, runes, scripts Molly couldn’t comprehend. Floating, softly glowing orbs of reds and purples and oranges bathed the whole clearing in flickering chromatic light. As their strange companion walked under the lights, they flared slightly for a moment before dying down to a gentle glow.

Some people might find it unnerving, a strange overgrown graveyard tucked deep in the woods, surrounded by magic totems. Molly, though, found it ethereal and charming, the lights giving the clearing a near dreamlike quality. In the back of his mind, he recalled stories he had heard on the road of the Feywild, and he wondered if it looked like this.

The person they followed stopped at the door, tracing a symbol against the cracked wood before the door opened. They looked back at Molly. Their dark skin shimmered in the light, almost like glitter, their solid gold eyes hard to read. They seemed to eye him curiously for a moment before entering the cottage, and after a brief moment, Molly followed them.

Inside, the only light was a small fireplace with a dying fire that cast flickering shadows over everything. But he saw the silhouette of the person touch something hanging from the ceiling, and suddenly a soft light illuminated most of the room. It was small, just one room. In one corner, by the fireplace, there was a counter with scattered vegetables, knives, and cups. Tucked into the corner opposite was a pile of blankets and furs that seemed to serve as a bed. It seemed relatively normal, aside from one thing. Papers covered nearly every other surface. On tables, nailed to the wall, tucked into shelves, stacked on chairs, some scattered on the floor. Molly curiously stepped closer to a wall, looking at the overlapping papers plastered there. Some had notes, scrawlings in a language Molly didn’t know, but a few had drawings.

Shaky lines and curves in thick charcoal, creating images of symbols, of items, of places. There was one that stood out to him- a drawing of an empty grave, and towards him, a first-person perspective of weak, dirt and blood covered legs, with drag marks leading back to the grave. With thick charcoal, there weren’t many fine details, but it still looked realistic, still looked familiar.

“You’re a good artist,” Molly smiled, shaking off the odd feeling, as he stepped away from the drawing.

The person eyed him warily from where they stood by the counter. After a moment though, they turned away, focusing on coaxing the flames of the fireplace back to life as they hung a kettle over it.

“I never did get your name,” Molly said as he carefully as he placed the basket on the counter, “I’m Mollymauk Tealeaf, just Molly to my friends.”

There was quiet for a minute as the person simply stayed crouched by the flames, watching the embers slowly turn back into flames. The orange glow gave their gold eyes a copper hue, the dancing reflections of the flames making their eyes look like glowing molten rock. With the shadows being cast over their face, they looked much older, scars more pronounced, the dark circles under their eyes even darker. It was hard to guess an age without a race- the eyes certainly eliminated most options though- but even then, in this moment, Molly could see how weathered and worn they truly were. The harsh light highlighted how skeletal their face was, sunken and thin, almost drained of life. They turned their head, almost imperceptibly, and Molly could tell they were looking at him, almost _glaring_ . That gnawing sense of unease he had been feeling since he had run into them flared in that moment and the firelight almost seemed to _dim_ for a moment. Despite that, Molly held his ground and, after a moment, gave a soft smile. The shadows seemed to recede ever so slightly as they turned back to watch the flames.

“N’Abjidynen,” They said, barely managing to break the silence.

It came out like a rasping whisper, voice hoarse and cracked like it hadn’t been used for years. Faintly, Molly realized that was entirely possible. He thought back to what the two he met on the edge of the woods had said, about the legends of the being that lived in the woods.

“Do you know about the rumours, Euthanatos and Necrotos?” He asked.

Part of him hoped they would react in some way, but they didn’t- their face didn’t move, their eyes still glassy and distant. All he got was a vague shrug after a minute.

They both lapsed into silence for a few minutes, with Molly trying to get a read on them as N’Abjidynen watched the kettle. It only took a few more minutes for it to boil, and they finally moved to stand. He could hear their joints cracking as they moved, struggling for a moment to pull themselves to standing. Picking up the kettle, they limped over to the worn and cracked wooden table, slowly moving some papers out of the way to make space for the kettle. From the counter they fetched two cups and two teabags, bringing them over to the table and pouring the hot water into each. As they moved, Molly watched the way they limped- wondering if they were injured. They never winced though, their feet just seemed to drag under their robes, catching on uneven flooring.

Molly picked up a stack of papers from one of the chairs, placing it to the side- feeling N’Abjidynen’s wary glare as he did so. Once he sat, pulling the cup towards him, they seemed to relax. Their head ducking down, eyes sliding off him and staring into nothingness as they absentmindedly stirred their tea. The scent of the tea was unique- warm and earthy with faint hints of spice. He waited until he saw them take a sip before trying some, surprised by the pleasant taste. It was comforting in a way, as comforting as a odd stranger’s tea could be.

“So,” He started, watching them with interest, “Which rumour is accurate?”

They didn’t respond for a while, eventually only giving him another half shrug. Molly leaned forward slightly.

“Certainly you must know, I assume you’re the one they’re about. Unless there’s another being living out here in a graveyard.”

“Cemetery.” They corrected.

“Is there a graveyard somewhere out here then?” He asked, slightly amused.

They shook their head.

“So,” Molly said, “Which one is the truth. Are you a terrifying necromancer or body eater, or just a lonely hermit tending to a graveyard.”

N’Abjidynen paused for a moment, taking another small sip of tea.

“Depends.”

“On?”

Breathing deeply, they set down their teacup, sitting in silence again for a bit before they answered.

“Who you ask.”

* * *

 

The rest of Molly’s time finishing his tea was done in near silence, N’Abjidynen having stopped answering any of his questions until he decided to sit in silence with them. When his tea was finished, he took his cup over to the counter, rinsing it quickly in the damp wooden bucket of dishwater. While there, as covertly as he could, he slid most of the rations from his pack into their basket of nuts and berries. If they noticed, they didn’t say anything.

“It was lovely meeting you N’Abjidynen,” Molly smiled, heading towards the door, “But unfortunately it’s getting late and the circus is supposed to perform tonight.”

They simply nodded, not really looking up, whatever faint energy or animation they had earlier was gone now. They were back to being distant and unresponsive. Molly still couldn’t shake the worry he felt about them, and his general unease, but it really wasn’t his place he supposed. Their reasons for living out here, their history, the reason they have a cemetery- that wasn’t any of his business. At least not at the moment. With one last smile, he left the small cottage, stepping out into the cool evening air.

Looking at the small cemetery, he walked up to the edge of it’s crumbled mossy wall. It was a shame, he thought, that he didn’t get an answer on whatever entity they were supposed to be. N’Abjidynen hardly seemed a threat, being so sickly and weak. Though they were strange and guarded, it was hard to discern if that was from ill-intent or just from their physical state- and probably mental state if they’d been alone out here for a few years.

As he stared at the dim flickering lights floating above the graves, he remembered something he had learned recently. He had been learning a lot of things since coming to, strange things that had come back to him. Strange things he could do with blood. Recently he had found he had a knack for sensing undead. Before he made his way out of the clearing, he tried to sense for anything undead or necromantic around.

To his surprise, nothing in the cemetery gave off anything that would indicate undead or necromancy. But before he started back through the woods,  a creeping realization washed over him as he realized there was something undead nearby. And he had sensed it earlier. But it wasn’t in the cemetery. The source of the undead energy was coming from behind him- inside the little hut where N’Abjidynen sat.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The alternative summary of this is  
>   
> If you made it this far, mashallah, thank you for reading. Please drop a kudos or comment if you liked it óvò


End file.
